And She Danced
by Fire Of The Stars
Summary: You dream that she is dancing..." warning:femmeslash


You dream that she is dancing. Her feet moving perfectly in time to music you can't hear. Her movements are more graceful, more fluid than anything you have ever seen.

In your dream, you step toward her. You want to tell her how beautiful she is.

But when she sees you, she stops dancing. She stops moving. And the dream fades into the dawn.

The next day, you find time to sneak out to the lakeside. You wait there for what seems like an eternity before you see her approaching. You hide behind a tree, afraid to be seen.

She stops in front of the water and stares into it for a moment before changing her posture.

And then, to your amazement, she begins to dance.

It is like your dream, but better. She moves like the wind, as enchanting to you as a Veela must be to males.

You inch your way out from your cover. She has her eyes closed, an expression of pure ecstasy on her face. Though her features are relatively plain, she looks more beautiful than anything to you.

And then, as if sensing your presence, her eyes snap open, she ceases in her graceful spinning. Her gaze travels to where you sit, and your heart takes a flying leap into your throat.

But, for some reason, you don't move. You simply sit there, staring like a gaping imbecile as she strides determinedly over to you.

When she reaches you, she kneels down so that your faces are level.

Her eyes sweep over your face and down over your body. You are suddenly aware of how scantily clad you are, in short Muggle shorts and a tank top.

And as a predatory smile spreads over her face, your cheeks flood with heat. She is leaning in closer to you, and your eyes are fluttering closed, your heart pounding in hopeful anticipation.

And then she is kissing you. It is gentle, yet insistent, her tongue probing every inch of your mouth.

And, just as suddenly as it begins, it is over. She is gone before you can even blink.

She slips you a note the next week. It instructs you to meet her in the girl's bath that night.

She hasn't said a word to you since the kiss by the lake, and you wonder what it is she could want, and how a little girl, a year younger than you, can make you this crazy.

But standing her up is simply not an option.

And when you reach the girl's bath that night, you look around and around, wondering where she has gone to.

Then you hear it. Singing. Soft, but beautiful, and you know at once that it is her.

You follow the sound, and when you see her your stomach gives a sickening twist.

She is in a deep bathtub, up to her delicate shoulders in water. Her hair is falling in front of her eyes, and she is smiling at you in the same hungry way she had smiled that day at the lake.

When you look back on that night later, you will remember nothing but the way she cried your name just before she relaxed into your arms.

You dream that she is dancing. Spinning in dizzying circles upon wet grass.

And as you watch, smoke begins to rise where her feet pound against the ground. At first is it just a thin veil, almost like steam. But it gets thicker, and darker, so real you are almost choking on it.

And then, to your horror, the smoke turns into flames. Her hair, already so bright red, becomes fire, licking at her beautiful face and charring the skin there. The fabric of her gauzy white dress is burning, falling in scraps around her feet. The flames surround her long, bare legs. The skin turns black and blisters.

And through it all, her eyes are closed, and a smile lights her face.

You go looking for her the next morning. She isn't in the common room, or in the Great Hall with all the other students. She isn't in the library. But, of course, that is your spot, not hers.

You travel the corridors aimlessly, feeling hopelessly pathetic. But you are used to that feeling, you feel it every time you wait up for her in the girl's bath. Every time she walks away and you feel tears stinging your eyes. 

Finally, you see a flash of red. Your heart begins to race, and a smile creeps across your face. There she is, her long red hair hanging perfectly, as usual. Her body looking stunning, even in

the black school robes.

But as you step closer, your heart drops somewhere deep inside your stomach.

Because, with her is a figure you know all too well. Blonde hair, pale skin, confident stance.

Ginny is kissing Draco Malfoy.

Not only that, but she is kissing him with just as much, if not more passion than she had while kissing you.

Her hands are running through his hair, making it look less than perfect, but he doesn't even seem to mind. His hands are traveling all over her body. His palms on her breasts, sliding down over the magnificent curve of her hips, and even lower. You watch her nibble his lip, him tip his head back in ecstacy. You feel sick as he turns so that her back is to the wall and she wraps her long, perfect legs around his waist. Even from here, you can tell that he is grinding his hips against hers, and you know she is feeling his erection, and she seems to love it. His hands are sliding up her skirt, into her sexy satin knickers, and oh god, you can't watch anymore.

You turn and run, as fast as you can. Your legs scream in protest, your heart slams against your ribs, almost brutally, and your breath is coming in hitches. Much like it did when you and she made love.

Your legs give out and you collapse somewhere near the North Tower.

You slide onto the floor and draw your knees up to your chest. You wait for your breathing to slow, and as it does, tears begin to fall silently down your cheeks.

What did you expect?

She is a beautiful, amazing girl. He is a gorgeous boy. She deserves someone who looks as delectable as she does, and that certainly is not you. No, you, with your bushy hair and plain muddy brown eyes and too much fat on your stomach and thighs, could hardly be called gorgeous.

But you cry anyway, because you had thought that hadn't mattered to her.

You dream that she is dancing.

But her movements are no longer fluid, no longer graceful. She is tripping over her own feet as she bursts into flames.

As her skin peels and melts away, she looks at you and smiles.

That hungry, predatory smile.

And then she screams.


End file.
